


The Art of Kidnapping

by Vagab0nd (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Dean, Businessman Dean, Crimes & Criminals, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Gay Panic, Homeless Castiel, Homelessness, Human Castiel, Kidnapping, M/M, Oral Sex, Points of View, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Vagab0nd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, a young businessman who has all the money in the world, craves adventure but is horrible at getting into anything but boring situations he'd rather avoid. So when some guy in a trenchcoat shows up and asks him politey to get in the car, he does.</p><p>As for Castiel, when he is in need of something, he does whatever he can to take it... Even if it hardly ever goes to plan. Falling in love with his prisoner? Definitely not in the blueprints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Let's see how this goes!

"Straight A's again, Sammy? What'd I tell you? Three years ago, standing on our lawn, tears in your eyes..." Dean said proudly, shutting the mailbox behind him and shifting his cellphone to his ear so he could shuffle through the various envelopes. 

"You told me I was gonna flunk out before the first Tuesday of September classes." Sam said, a grin audible even through the shitty connection Dean could get in the limbo between WiFi and not-Wi-Fi. 

"You know I was kidding." He replied, rolling his eyes. "Not every freakishly tall nerd gets into /Stanford/, and when they do they're damn committed. C'mon. I'm... proud of ya."

His cleanly manicured fingers crept through the papers in his hold until the last one caught his eye. "By the way, you told me that Becky chick knew you'd moved." He said slowly, tearing the envelope open as silence crackled on the other end. It was his turn to grin widely as he stepped on the welcome mat and cleaned every bit of gravel from the soles before stepping into his cool, air-conditioned home. "Her perfume is so freakin overwhelming, god. Oho! Rose petals this time!"

Sam squawked in protest very clearly from inside the Wi-Fi range now, and Dean almost dropped the phone as he barked with laughter. "Yeah, that's right! I'm opening 'em! They show up in my mailbox, what did you expect? That I'm gonna save them for you in a little shoebox covered in sprinkles and glitter?" he dropped the rest of the envelopes down on his granite countertop and unfolded the pink cardstock. "Speaking of which, thank hell she didn't use glitter this time."

"DEAN." Sam hissed through the speakers. "Put that letter down or so help me-"

"You'll what, set the mathletes on me?" Came the response, low timbres of the older brother's voice shifting upwards. "Dear Saaaaammy-"

"AAAAuugh."

The rest of the conversations went this way, back and fourth teasing about various activities-- Dean's tennis practice, (The instructor is hot, okay?) Sam's "geeerlfreeeend" Jessica, (she's not my girlfriend!) and other stupid things until Sam had to do homework and they parted ways, forgoing "I love you"s for their usual "Bitch, Jerk" routine. Dean smiled warmly as he hung up, chuckling and putting the letter in a plastic bag with the other ones, and looking through the rest of his mail. 

Pamphlet, coupons, water bill, lawn care advertisement, loan offer. Invigorating. Dean sighed, scratching his light stubble before picking up the phone again to order Chinese food as he settled in on the couch with Dr. Sexy. 

It's not that it had been a hard day, or anything. On the contrary-- it'd been easy as pie, if only pie had been involved. No, it'd been good. Everything had gone to plan, down to the last detail. His father's insurance business was booming, the stocks were rising at a steady rate, there weren't any complicated new strategies to enact as everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. 

And that's what made it fucking boring. In actuality, his conversation with Sam had been the highlight of his week. Conversation that didn't include weather or stock choices! A smile! Someone not kissing his ass! Astounding. Impossible! Wow. 

Dean turned upside down on the couch and frowned at the television. It was a new episode, Dr. Sexy whispering to his patient about what he was going to do to her body, but even the ridiculous attempt at humor didn't make Dean crack another smile. Because it wasn't different. It wasn't unique. 

He fell off the couch in a heap when the doorbell rang, and in a moment, laden down with wontons and fried rice, he had settled in to ponder on what donuts Donna might bring in to the office the next day. After deciding he wanted a powdered one, he politely put his containers down on the table, turned the television off, and picked his jacket off the hook. 

He was gonna start a fight. 

______________________________________ 

 

In hindsight, this had sounded a lot more fantastic in his head. 

The bar wasn't as crazy as Dean remembered it to be, but in his defense he never frequented any run-down gigs like this anymore and had probably blown the squander out of proportion in his own memory. He'd spent enough time here in his "Rebellious Stage", passing with a fake ID and a faker attitude as he picked up chicks with one wink and a come-hither eyebrow wiggle, but now he was out of practice and had a meeting in the morning at seven thirty, so hangovers and one night stands were a bit of an issue at this point. 

"Whiskey." he told the bartender with a charming grin, and she smiled right back, replying "Course, darlin.", before turning back around. Dean felt his ego swell. Still got it. Even if the bartender could be his mom. 

"Jesus." he grumbled smile drooping. Its not as if he were pushing 40 or something! He was 27! The pinnacle of his life! The prime. He had masturbated this morning. He was just... Bored. 

Right. That's why he wanted to start a fight. He wanted fists flying, voices raised, spit-shooting action. All it took were a few choice words and a missed punch to the gut and everyone would be flying! Probably. He remembered something like that from when he was nineteen. 

"Here you are sweetie." said momma bartender, placing a glass of whiskey in front of him and taking the five he gave her before moving her shoulders up to her ears and walking to the next person. Taking a large sip and enjoying the burn as it went down, Dean began to scope the place out for potential enemies. 

A balding guy in his forties. A businesswoman in formal attire. A group of teenage girls. Some guy with a backwards hat and a smirk? 

Perfect. Dean thought confidently, downing his whiskey and sticking his hands in his pockets before sauntering his way over. 

"Hey." he started, jerking his chin at hat man and then to the girl he was talking to. "What do you think you're doing with my girlfriend?"

The 'girlfriend' just kind of looked at him, confused instead of the flustered anger he had expected. "Dude." she said with a soft huff of laughter, and her partner turned around to look at Dean, except Jesus Christ this was not the person he expected. 

"She's not your girlfriend." The other, rather stunning woman said in a sweet voice, standing up to her full height of six inches shorter than Dean. 

Good. He was just gonna go pick fights with young ladies. Yes. Perfect. 

"Who says, huh?" He shot back nervously, digging himself a deeper shithole. 

"I do, and I'm her girlfriend, you waste of space and matter." she said, not only maliciously, but amused. "The hell you trying to pull, you are so far from her type it's hilarious."

"Dorothy, he's just flirting." the other girl laughed, at him probably, and then Dorothy was patting him on his shoulder. "Charlie's too adorable for her own good. I know. But if you're not Scarlett Johansson, take my advice and step off, okay champ?" she said, her brown eyes narrowing at him. 

"I don't need your protection!" Charlie protested, taking Dorothy by the hand and flopping her arm around and holy shit he was so uncomfortable. 

"Yeah. Right, bye." he said, not missing the "See, I told you this outfit was a bad idea." "But you look just like Eggsy from Kingsman, like whoa!" as he stepped away and immediately went back to momma bartender to order two more whiskeys. 

"Thirsty one there, you're not drivin home, are ya?" she asked gently, taking his bills and placing two cups before him. He shook his head at the table and she hummed at him, unimpressed but giving up for the moment as someone down the line beckoned to her for more. 

Dean poured one glass into the other and decided to just carry the overfilled cup to the pool table, down to kick ass at that instead of trying to start a fight by himself, but as he focused on not spilling his drink there was suddenly some guy in front of him and he'd spilled whiskey down his entire front without even going out of his way to do so. 

Wonderful. 

"Hey man, I'm sorry." he said, almost angry at himself as he stepped back to give the dude some personal space. The guy trailed his entire gaze up Dean's front and pushed his shoulders lightly, not even moving him back an entire step. 

"You wanna go?" he snarled rudely, quickly pressing into Dean's space again and hissing into his ear. "You wanna go? Back to my apartment? So you can help me change these dirty clothes..."

Dean suddenly realised why the man had suddenly appeared in front of him and slammed into him with such purpose. 

"Cuz you're kinda cute." The man continued, once again looking down Dean's front and chuckling. 

What was this? A gay bar?

"Ohp, look at the time." Dean choked out and stared at his wrist. "Time to go." His new friend didn't even have the time to look disappointed before Dean was out the door and lamenting his gigantic failure by growling at the pavement. 

So much for a fight. So much for wanting to start shit. He'd wanted something new, but not this new! A good, old-fashioned fist fight could have come out of those situations with some well placed words, he guessed-- but Dean wasn't fucking rude, just bored. 

"Maybe I'll try candle-making." he growled to himself. "There's only a fifty percent chance I'd burn the house down."

He clambered into his Impala a little ways down the dusky street, wallowing in his own self-pity for a bit before starting the car and driving the rest of his way home. He still had an eggroll or two left, he thought. And maybe he could prank-call his boss...

He reached his home at exactly eleven PM, and shuffled his keys back into his pocket before heading towards the front door. He hadn't taken two steps however before a gravelled, low voice called out to him from behind. 

"Get in the car."

Son of a bitch. Finally. 

"Yeah, okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's how it went! Questions? Comments? Snide remarks?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for so many reads in so little time! I'll be updating every three days-- next chapter will be up on Sunday. 
> 
> Castiel's point of view this time!

"You may turn around." Castiel said, his voice surprisingly steady.

Winchester took his sweet time turning on his heel, immediately looking unimpressed and over the entire situation. Castiel held his little pistol tight to his chest with both hands and jerked his head to the side.

"Come toward me. Any sudden movements and I will shoot you very painfully in one of your non-vital regions." He growled, standing stone still on the pavement.

"Right, sure." The other man and started to walk slowly towards him, shifting his gaze from Castiel back to the cars parked by his side, to the houses, and even up in the air before looking back at him. "Where's your creeper van?" he asked curiously.

Castiel’s eyebrows drew over his forehead. What? Creeper… What? He stood there for a moment contemplating the uses of a larger getaway vehicle before deciding against it. Out of the question. “Um, I don’t have one, please get in the-“ he gestured to his tiny Lincoln Continental. At least the windows were tinted. Winchester just continued to stand there, and Castiel’s confusion intensified. Why was this man so casual while he was being kidnapped? Was this normal? Was he supposed to have learned this defense technique in school?

"The one with the green door?" Winchester asked, and took a step.

"No, the- the other one. Don't try to get away." Came the warning again. It was rather redundant because at this point both of them were standing face to face.

"Yeah alright." The man was slightly taller, but he let Castiel slide his gun into his pocket. "Don't try anything." Castiel said, almost in habit at this point, binding soft, white hands so different from his calloused brown ones tightly with ropes and pushing him inside the backseat of the little car, door creaking. Dean wasn’t struggling even now. It was probably a bad idea to put the gun away when-

"Dude, did you turn the safety back on? For your gun?" Said the kidnap-ee, concerned.

"Oh." Castiel replied intelligently and fiddled for the pistol again, not shutting the door.

"Close the door or I can leave."

"Oh." Said Castiel.

He just caught a glance of Winchester rolling his eyes before the door was slammed shut and he was walking around the car and sliding into the front seat, keys in hand.

"Where are we going?" The man in back asked immediately, obviously trying to get more comfortable on the seat with bound hands behind him. Castiel didn't answer, simply starting the car and pulling out at a moderate pace, expression one of intense concentration. Why had this been so easy? Had the Winchesters been ready for his plan? Was this all a trap, merely to keep him relaxed with this man in tow as they watched him with police cameras?

"Where are you taking me, dammit?" The prisoner repeated, grunting and squirming.

"Shut up." Castiel said coldly, adjusting his mirror to look at him, just a flash of icy blue eyes in passing car lights. What was the plan behind this again? Did he even have the right man? “What is your name?”

“Thought you told me to shut up.”

Father in heaven, he was dreadfully annoying and suspicious.

“What. Is your name?”

“Dean Winchester.” Well that solved that dilemma.

“Are we being followed?”

“Nope.” A pop of the P.

A silence followed as Castiel debated this a bit longer. He also thought over his reasoning of not tying Dean’s legs together and suddenly became grateful that he had somehow chosen the easiest kidnapping victim of all time.

Falling to the bottom rung in the ladder of life was never anyone’s plan, especially Castiel’s. He was the youngest in a large family, always had good grades in school, graduated valedictorian. His parents would have been proud of him, he was sure. Dad might have said something in a letter he sent back home, but Luc had always burned them as soon as he could. Mom probably was too, if she had remembered how old Castiel was. She forgot about him quite a bit, but that was fine. She was so busy sometimes he forgot she existed too.

Upon obtaining a degree in Library Science in order to pursue his dream as-- well. A Librarian, after weeks upon weeks of looking, he’d finally found a job, and lived paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment. For what he could previously afford to do for himself he had always thanked God that he had never gone hungry, but now he could barely think of the deity before cursing his very name.

Finding himself staring down the long stretch of road ahead of them, stupidly Contemplating his life choices, Castiel shook his head and looked behind him again in the mirror to see Dean staring back, apparently waiting for an opportunity to speak again, as he immediately asked, “What’s your name? Can’t keep callin’ ya “Dude” in my inner monologue.”

As soon as their eyes met. Castiel stared back at the road. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Where are we fuckin’ going?”

“Somewhere.”

“Why don’t you have a van, buddy?” Dean was teasing him. Castiel shut him down directly this time.

“I could take off my sock right now and gag you with it. My foot would get cold so please stop talking.”

Dean shut up with a grunt, and Castiel curled his bare toes in frozen shoes. It was silent in the car for a good long while, and Castiel assumed Dean had fallen asleep, so he turned on the radio, soft sounds of ACDC playing underneath the steady hum of the road. It was peaceful and left him to his thoughts, of future plans and his destination, although he didn’t truly have one. He simply had a cellphone and a car, and some stolen money that his brother Michael would suspect Luc for, and probably Gabriel as well. They didn’t know about his personal problems, nor did they honestly care. He was the good child, the baby, and the money he made out with was substantial, but definitely not enough to live on for a long time.

That’s why he needed Dean. If Castiel had done his research correctly in his perusing of the internets, (Through many ups and downs and disappointments; books were his thing for a reason) The Winchester family was very high class, had extra money to spare, but did not seem to have good networking skills. The insurance company was detached from the world, never on social medias or platforms except for a business website, and although the place obviously thrived due to lawn signs in picket-fenced neighborhoods, no one would notice in the outside world if Dean suddenly left, thus creating less of a panic and a longer time period to leave.

The ransom could be paid for quickly and cleanly through a throw-away, filtered account, Dean would be sent back, and Castiel could get himself back on his feet and start working again, get a better apartment, and feed himself. He had felt very proud of concocting his plan, figuring out a good, wealthy candidate, and figuring out schedules and times and specific habits Dean had before his strike. He had been a little sloppy perhaps, forgetting things and misplacing others and getting lost trying to find Dean’s house… But apparently, that didn’t matter. This man, his prisoner, tied up in the backseat with his legs completely free and his body un-seatbelted, (Dammit) was for the most part cooperative and curious. Of course, he scoffed to himself, Dean was also annoying and rude, not to mention he- Oh.

As he heard a faint humming from the backseat along to Metallica’s “Master of Puppets”, Castiel began to wonder exactly what he hadn’t gotten himself into.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Snide remarks?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT TOOK A LOT LONGER THAN PLANNED. Allow me to give 928618476 apologies. The next chapter will be up within a week, and if that doesn't happen you can salt and burn me. 
> 
> I'm kidding. Please do not. I am fragile

When Dean and Sam were kids, their favorite activity was a game called "Hide and Capture". Sam, usually the 'capturer', would cover his eyes and begin to count to one hundred, while Dean would run and hide as far away as possible, a huge grin on his face as Sam tried to find his older brother and then lock him up. He always let himself get caught, as that was the fun part; escape after capture. 

Sam would tie Dean onto a chair with some yarn, or string, and they would place tape over Dean's mouth (which was difficult to keep on, no matter what tv said- Dean could lick it off very easily), and then the younger would pretend to leave, give Dean time to escape, and come back just in time to tackle him and wrestle. 

Whenever Sam tied him up, Dean wouldn't move, because then the game wouldn't be fun and he couldn't escape. When the tape was on his mouth he didn't talk, because that would make it fall off. It was hilarious at times, Sam not even leaving for two seconds before checking back, sending the two of them into fits of laughter, and far better than simply Hide and Seek. There was danger and adventure and intrigue to it as children, and Dean still thought on it fondly... But not at this moment. 

Sitting in a cold car and having just directed his own kidnapping, Dean didn't like the similarities one bit. 

In his first moment after the initial announcement, he had been excited, anticipatory towards fighting his captor, struggling against his bonds, kicking ass and taking names, but he hadn't even taken one name and his Capturer was more incompetent than a seven-year-old who didn't know how to tie a knot without Dean helping him. 

Okay, he had _sort of_ gotten a threat out of him, the promise of sock-torture much more threatening than the freaking gun. 

At least the dude had good taste. Nodding along to the music in the background, Dean contemplated his options. Next stop they had to get gas, he could break a window and escape. He could jump over his seat at a stoplight and knock the guy out to be taken straight to police, or maybe he could get the gun somehow...

He decided to go with talking first, even though he had only followed sock order for all of five minutes. 

"Why are you doing this, man?" He started. "You look like a... Respectable person, why do you need to go around taking people?" There was no response, so Dean continued. "You're not gonna get away with this." 

Not only had that been cliché as all hell, it was also not very convincing and kind of false, all considering Dean had basically climbed into the car by himself. This entire ordeal was stupid, and worse than the bar situation. The one time something happened that could have been dangerous, and Dean managed to get the worst criminal on God's green Earth. 

After trying a few more times to halfheartedly get the guy to talk, he resorted to other tactics. "So, my name is Dean. I'm an aquarius, I enjoy long walks on the beach, and frisky women."

That apparently was worth attention. "You live in Kansas, I doubt you have ever seen the ocean." the driver replied dully, and Dean felt a sense of accomplishment from finally getting a response, followed by exasperation. 

"I travel, genius. Unlike you, my car gets good gas milage and doesn't sound like a constipated elephant. Gets me places."

"People who live in Kansas don't tend to be particularly outgoing." Came the reply. 

He wrinkled his nose. "You can't make stereotypes just by looking in a mirror, buddy."

"Of course not, that would imply I thought you would be attractive and intelligent."

It was the first time that night he had felt genuinely insulted, and his wrists were freaking bound. "Excuse you? This is coming from the guy that didn't know to turn his gun safety off!"

There was a long stretch of silence before Dean could swear that he could hear the other audibly pouting. "I do know how, I simply forgot to do it." 

Having absolutely no response, Dean held back an incredulous bark of laughter at how almost cute this criminal was. Where was the grizzled snarl, the insult that hit home, the threat to scare him off? There hadn't been one. Any of the stereotypes previously set by news articles and CSI Miami were slowly being destroyed, and slowly making Dean more suspicious. A possibility occured to him of an act to lower his guard and make him relax, which unfortunately he had been doing. 

So in regards to this thought, instead of responding, Dean sat stock still and watched out the window, taking in the lights flickering by from passing cars and streetlamps, the comforting hum of trucks as they ambled along beside, and didn't notice how relaxed he had once again become even as the lights became red behind his eyelids, and the rumble of the road lulled him to sleep.

_____________________________________________________

"Get up."

Dean woke with a start, his bound wrists flying up and hitting himself in the face in surprise. His kidnappper was standing on the opposite side of an opened door, illuminated just barely by early-morning light. Dean could see him much more clearly now, a scruffy man with dark stubble and unkempt hair, peircing blue eyes, and a stare that could kill several kittens with its intensity. His jawline was soft, and although his gaze was offputting, he seemed by appearance alone a bit on the confused side, lost and dazed.

"I have bought a motel room." Dude continued, bending down to grab Dean's arms and pull him from the car, but the prisoner would have none of it. "I can walk by m' damn self." he growled, his cheek pink from where it had been pressed against the door. The slightly shorter man glared at him, and grabbed him again, this time much less gentle as he yanked Dean to his feet and slammed a hand over his eyes. 

They didn't walk too far before the jangle of keys was heard and Dean's eyes were barely covered and body loosely restrained, and a door opened slowly before them. Pushed in, he immediately smelled cigarettes and urine, and wrinkled his nose in pure disgust. "You didn't mention you had rented out the Four Seasons here, pal." he sneered, before being forced down to his knees with his ass up in the air and face smushed into the dirty brown carpet that he could get a good look at now he was able to see again.

His face flushed pink. "At least take me to dinner first." he choked out before his legs were roughly spread apart and bent, causing his heartbeat to speed up with terror for the first time that night. So, it had been an act, huh? Shit, he could deal with physical pain pretty well, but-- this was not something he had mentally prepared for, not something that had even crossed his mind. 

"There you go." Came the voice above him, although it was unsure in its malicious intent, wary. "I have figured out how to shut you up." A moment passed in silence, and Dean didnt know what to say until his captor put a hand on his ass and pushed him back down, just like that. 

"I am intelligent." the man continued, his deep voice resonating through the room, yet soft. "If I had wanted to, I could have... Defiled you, and being in places of weakness that can also be percieved as homosexual make you nervous, not excluding the situation at the bar you recently visited. I will not let you order me around as if this is your play to direct. I know what I'm doing, and you don't. You are no longer business head, I am, and I can do whatever I want with you without a care for your wellbeing."

Dean wasn't sure who this guy was trying to convince, because as of right then, it sure wasn't him with any long speech. 

"Sure. Fine, alright." he grumbled, glancing under his stomach and out the door of the Red Roof motel. 

"But will you at least close the door?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Snide remarks?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nervous laughter*  
> Uhhhh, I think I've run out of apologies to give. Instead, here's an update! Hopefully some of y'all are sticking around for my story.

There were several routes Castiel had decided upon and could have taken Winchester, all of them carefully divided out and calculated to the last detail. Every flaw was forseen. What could go wrong? Probabilities and percentages?

However; these plans did not involve Castiel himself fucking up at every turn. 

For instance, his monologue had been very rudely overshadowed by the fact that he had forgotten to close the motel door, which he did by kicking the flimsy wood in what was a much-too-violent gesture in and of itself, and upon contacting its frame decided to split and leave a triangle hole in the pine. 

Winchester snorted loudly, and Castiel kicked him too. 

"You're a really shitty kidnapper." Came the pained grunt, the man above choosing not to look back for the moment and instead stuff a towel into the broken door. Another count of evidence pointing to his failure as a criminal. His captive was not nervous or scared, or even the slightest bit anxious. He was bossy and rude and downright annoying. 

"Shut up." he said roughly, gritting his teeth and sinking onto the creaky bedframe, enjoying its spring. It had been months since he had last used a mattress. He shifted to loosen the scruffy backpack on his shoulders, pulling out some packing tape and a granola bar and shoving the entirety of the bar into his mouth while ascending towards Winchester once again on his knees. 

Winchester decided to continue talking. This was nothing new. "I could escape really easily like this, jackass."

"But you won't." Castiel said tiredly as he munched, crouching directly over his prisoner's legs and feet and upon deciding it was not his best plan, choosing to sit on his shins instead to start wrapping packing tape around jean-clad legs, just above smart business shoes. "You said it yourself, I am a horrendous criminal. You are the increasingly suspicious character in this situation and most probably have someone following you at this point. That, or you have an overwhelming desire for domination."

"Are you kidding?" Winchester said with a disbelieving expression, and in return got a towel thrown in his face. He sat in silence for a moment, attempted to roll over with another man on his legs, and proceeded to twist the fabric further around his head. He decided not to continue at that moment and focus on the issue at hand. 

Castiel stood again and sat on his mattress, folding his legs on top of the bed. "Why would I be- This is no joking matter. You practically climbed into my car yourself, far too eager, and continued to point out things that would have made an escape much easier for you." he stood up once the other was sufficiently tied, debating putting tape in dark blonde hair just to piss his captive off. 

"Yeah, well." Winchester retorted, voice muffled with grungy blue cloth. "No one goes into a kidnapping without remembering to secure the damn prisoner in the back seat, much less how to approach someone properly after following them!"

Castiel flushed, his pride damaged, but listening to each point made and every flaw discovered, it had indeed been a Very Bad Plan. "I'm so sorry, is there a "Kidnapping For Dummies" novel I might have missed? Why on earth didn't you just walk away if I'm such a failure!? Pity?"

"You had a gun, and I'm priceless property!"

"I still have a gun!"

Silence. He had a point. Castiel took the opportunity to get his towel back. "Are you ready to sit up?"

"As if I wanted to be down here."

Putting calloused hands out in front of himself, the kidnapper stretched in a catlike manner, going so far as to crack his neck from side to side. "Well if you are going to act like that, I may just take my time."

"Ugh." Winchester replied, disgusted as Castiel took the tv remote from on top of the dresser and turned the channels one by one. "Let's see if you're on the news." he said drily, and watched for a while in silence before the man on the floor had finally had enough. 

"If you don't tell me your name, I'm just going to call you sonofabitch for the entirety of the time we're together."

"You're not on the television." Castiel replied, giving the update his prisoner had never asked for. 

"Thanks for letting me know, sonofabitch. I had gone _blind_ for the last fifteen minutes and had no idea."

The television was finally turned to a pleasant nature documentary and settled, remote put on the bedside table. Castiel opened the tourist guide. "A quarry is nearby. A gravel quarry with an abundance of stray dogs. Fascinating."

Winchester growled. 

"Exactly, Winchester. Spectacular impression."

The man on the floor just wrinkled his nose instead of replying, and Castiel continued reading before sliding the guide down and standing up to use the bathroom, glancing down at his partner in crime who stopped wiggling uncomfortably as soon as Castiel met his eye, suddenly anxious. 

"I'm going to use the bathroom." he told in monotone, taking the steps between the bed and tiny toilet closet, barely four feet wide and seven feet long. When he had finished but a minute later, Winchester was kneeling and trying to whack the towel out of the cat-door he had created. 

"No!" Castiel scolded like he would a child, kicking Winchester lightly on the stomach, barely a push, but he was met with an overreaction so violent he might as well have beamed him in the right nipple. 

"Jesus fuck-" his prisoner whimpered, bending over at the waist and squeezing his eyes shut. Castiel was immediately confused, inspecting the hunched figure and wondering if he had hurt him unintentionally during their car ride. Perhaps he had stopped too fast at one point, but that wouldn't matter if he hadn't been fitted with a seatbelt...

He was still debating the possibility that Winchester had somehow managed to seatbelt-slice himself when he heard a small drip of water hit the carpet in front of him, and glimpsed the stain growing steadily around the crotch of the other man's jeans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions?? Comments??? Snide remarks?????


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry friends!! My computer errored big time and got rid of my work! Apologies for the accidental update. BUT HEY. IT'S WITHIN A WEEK THIS TIME

As the stupid stubbly douchebag sat on his feet, Dean realized he really, _really_ had to pee.

Not like a normal pee, this was a urine emergency. His bladder was on countdown and he was going to explode at any second. How this had escaped his physical notice was beyond him, but right now the only thing Dean could think about was how much he had to goddamn go.

After sonofabitch finally got up and closed the door to the blessed toilet, Dean put all of his effort and concentration into getting the towel out of the door so he could crawl through the handmade doggy door to freedom. He was getting tired of this already – It wasn’t an adventure, the supposed “Mastermind Kidnapper Extraordinaire” had absolutely no idea what he was doing and here he was coming out of the bathroom and kicking Dean in the stomach with as much force as a gentle wind blowing through the trees in mid-august.

Unfortunately that was all it took to make the dam break, and soon enough Dean could feel the bliss of letting go, and the horror of urinating all over his bound legs.

The kidnapper (Big surprise) Had no idea what to do. He leaned over to sort of watch Dean pee himself and the floor and then sat up again, probably feeling good about his bad deed. He stood up, digging in his Mary Poppins bag of shit, and pulled out…

A pair of scissors.

“NO.” Dean squeaked ferociously, shaking his head and trying to hide the fact that his face was turning 7 different shades of pink. “Those are not going anywhere near me, you have no idea how to walk right much less handle scissors!”

His captor just rolled his eyes, unreadable as was per usual. “If you stop kicking around, we’ll get these off and you can borrow a pair of mine.”

“Hell no!” Dean replied angrily, kicking more, although it was useless flopping around with both of his feet tied together like a flawed tuna break dancer. “Just untie me and let me take my own pants off!”

“I don’t think I can trust you to do that. You just tried to leave.”

“If you can’t trust me to change my pants, then why were you going to wrestle them on to my legs and ruin my jeans?”

The other man paused, frustrated. They waited a moment in silence as Dean’s crotch started to cool and chafe and he found significantly more shades of pink to discover over his nose.

“I’m not here to… Torture you, or something.” Sonofabitch finally admitted, fingering the scissors absentmindedly. “If you had just asked to go to the bathroom in the first place, I would have let you.”

Dean sniffed derisively. “You’re so dumb. Worst kidnapper, worst strategist, worst human being award goes to…”

He halted in his tracks as the other man started to look absolutely heartbroken, trying to hide behind his mask again.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He said softly, shrugging and putting the scissors on his bed, his blue eyes drooping even more, if that was possible. Dean stopped looking at him before he could start to feel any other emotions but hatred and disgust. This man was pathetic and wrong, and needed to be put in jail for obvious reasons, even if Dean had half-instigated the entire ordeal.

“I’m not here to torture you, I just wanted the ransom money.”

“So you just took a person, huh? Man, I wish the days of good ol’ bank robbing were still around. Or betting on mousetrap like when we were kids. Ya roll your dice, ya move your mice. Nobody gets hurt.”

“I took a person without the intention of hurting him, just to keep you long enough so I’d get the money and set you free again. It wasn’t under threat of death, or punishment. It’s just an email asking for funds… If I don’t get it, I keep you longer. I have enough to keep us fed for at least two months, and kept in motels with functional water systems and a bed.”

Dean didn’t believe it for a second. “You have a gun.”

It was the other man’s turn to blush cherry red, licking chapped lips. “I don’t have any bullets.” He admitted awkwardly. “I was just going to use it for pictures. To seem threatening— Truth is I don’t like conflict very much. My family is constantly fighting and I…” He trailed off, obviously unsure why he was telling Dean this.

“So you’re telling me that any time I wanted to leave, I could just fight my way out and you wouldn’t fight back?”

“Of course I would fight back. I know how to use self defense, Winchester. I’m rather good at it too. But I’m not just going out and looking for fights. I’m not going to just attack you. I don’t want you to leave, which is why I’ve restrained you, but I’m not going to sit on you and kick you.”

Dean just looked at him.

“U-Unless it’s absolutely necessary for my well-being!”

“Fine.” Dean gritted his teeth. The other was being kind of unclear, but he made enough sense in that he made sure his captive didn’t feel threatened, necessarily. He didn’t want Dean to leave, and he didn’t want to get hurt himself… But other than that, Dean was in no danger. But could he believe him? Was this man really to be trusted, even a smidgen?

“If you’re really telling the truth, you gotta tell me your name.”

The man gave absolutely no hesitation, genuine as Dean would guess he could be.

“Castiel.”

"Cool. Now lemme get my pants off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that??? My tumblr??? Its Supernyatural!
> 
> No really. Find me. ;D
> 
> And, as always - any questions? Comments?? Snide remarks???


End file.
